


you can make a sinner change his ways

by Splatx



Series: Kinktober 2020 [15]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: "Bloodplay", #18, Accidental Stimulation, Biting, Blood Drinking, Day 18, Frottage, Grinding, Hand Jobs, He's a vampire so, Kinda?, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Kinktober2020, M/M, Prompt 18, Somewhat Implied Future 'Romance', Vampire Bites, Vampires, Young Arthur Morgan, Young Dutch van der Linde, does that count
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splatx/pseuds/Splatx
Summary: Kinktober 2020, #18: "Bloodplay"He’d never tasted anyone like Arthur, and he was certain that the man had ruined any other blood for him.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde
Series: Kinktober 2020 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947451
Comments: 1
Kudos: 63
Collections: Kinktober 2020





	you can make a sinner change his ways

###  _You can make a sinner change his ways_  
~Locked Out of Heaven, Bruno Mars

Arthur knew what Dutch was, of course.

It would be hard to hide it from him. The way his eyes went from brown to a dull red if he stayed in camp for too long, the way Hosea tended to wear high-necked sweaters. The way he was just that little bit too pale, the way he only ate when he was forced to.

It had, he’d admit, scared him at first. But Dutch was still _Dutch,_ had fed him and put a gun in his hand, taught him not just how to survive but how to _live._ So what if Dutch was different? He was still Dutch and that was that.

  
  


But then Hosea left.

He wanted to try getting out of the life, wanted to live like a normal man, with his wife. And Arthur… well, it hurt. Bessie had been like a mother to him, and Hosea like a father - maybe even more than that. But he wished them well, and they visited on occasion.

Dutch, though, struggled.

He tried not to feed in the towns they stayed near, for fear of getting caught or drawing attention. And feeding on the road was risky - ambushing folk was liable to get him shot and, while he healed quick, it left him hungrier than he’d been before going hunting. And with Arthur to look after - though he was eighteen then, he did still need looking after - he couldn’t ride out to feed in the towns further away.

He’d been feeding on Hosea, for the most part, when he couldn’t go out into the far-away towns. When they visited Hosea and Bessie he’d feed, fill up as much as he could, but that could only last so long.

Dutch did alright for a while - snuck out and risked it while Arthur went hunting or fishing or on small jobs, dared to ambush travelers or try and seduce folk in the nearby towns.

But then he almost got caught, and they had to run. Fled clear across the state, and found themselves crashing in the middle of the desert, no one around for miles.

And Dutch was _starving._ They’d been riding non-stop for over a week, and he hadn’t been able to feed for quite a while before that. Had risked it only because he was desperate, and as he collapsed to his bedroll his mind buzzed, his eyes so red they gleamed.

Arthur had offered.

Dutch had said no.

And then the next day, Arthur had offered again, and again, Dutch had said no.

The third day, Dutch was seeing everything in shades of red, and finally he buckled and said _yes._

  
  


“If you start to get dizzy,” he warned Arthur, “tap my arm.”

He could barely focus enough to speak - he could _smell_ Arthur’s heart beating, the whooshing agonizingly loud in his ears. The man was a warm weight above him, straddling his hips.

That had been one of the concessions Dutch had insisted be made: Arthur was in complete and utter control. He practically sat in Dutch’s lap, thighs boxing him in, and a gun sat nearby. Arthur had nearly had a heart attack, but Dutch had insisted on it - if he lost control, and Arthur couldn’t stop him, couldn’t break free or jump off (which was why he was on top), he was to shoot him.

“I know, Dutch,” Arthur shifted above him, reaching to nervously pluck at the neckline of his shirt. He’d volunteered, sure - multiple times - but that didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous. He trusted Dutch, more than anything, but his heart was racing at the thought of having the man’s fangs in his throat, in his veins, at the thought of having his blood drawn out of him. He knew Dutch would never hurt him, but the man was _starving,_ and he’d seen the way he’d been looking at him, like he was a piece of meat hung at the butcher’s stall and the man a starving dog.

“Remember what you promised, son,” and hell, he had promised but he could never shoot Dutch, would rather let him suck him dry, but still he said,

“I remember, Dutch,”

and Dutch could smell the lie on the air, but _god_ he was starving, his hands shook violently as he reached up to undo the fastenings on the man’s shirt, tugging it open just enough that he could get to the crook of his neck without fighting with the clothing.

He took a deep breath, eyes locking on that spot where he could see his pulse fluttering, lifeblood rushing just beneath the skin, licked his lips, grimaced as he pricked his tongue on his freshly descended fangs - he hadn’t done that since he’d been freshly turned - and leaned forward to lathe his tongue along where he’d bite and then some, just to be safe, pausing to let his numbing saliva get to work, “This is going to hurt, Arthur,”

The man was frozen above him, not daring to move, instead saying “Yeah”, he’d gathered that, those fangs weren’t exactly _needles,_ they looked like they’d hurt. Though his skin was starting to tingle where Dutch had licked - and goosebumps had risen when Dutch had done so.

He set his fangs into the skin there just hard enough to dent it, stilled, waited long enough to give Arthur time to change his mind, to pull away, but the man took a shaky breath and nothing else, so he waited another pump of his heart and _bit._

Arthur gasped.

Dutch _groaned._

  
  


It hurt for a second - just long enough for the fangs to slide through his skin - and then _burning,_ a strange, almost-familiar warmth that flooded his veins, that rushed through him like unstoppered flames, and his hands flew up to tangle in Dutch’s shirt, the vampire none-the-wiser. He was distracted, removing his teeth from the man’s neck, lathing his tongue over the blood that beaded from the twin wounds, groaning at the taste, before clasping his mouth over the bite and _sucking._

And it didn’t _hurt._

Not at all.

_‘Shitshitshitshitshit.’_

Arthur knew that Dutch had a nose better than the most well-bred hound, and all he could do was pray the man was too distracted to smell the arousal that, considering he was nearly popping the seams in his pants, was surely thick in the air.

  
  


Arthur’s blood went sweet - well, sweeter - then turned heady, spiced like cinnamon, and Dutch shuddered, sucking harder, sure to leave a _massive_ bruise, lapping his tongue over and over the blood that flowed freely, kneading his fingers in the man’s shirt, the spice like an aphrodisiac on his tongue. His hips twitched, and he could only pray that Arthur would forgive him, that he wouldn’t feel the erection that was surely beginning to strain against his pants - he’d never tasted blood like this before and it was doing _something_ to him—

—and then he smelled something in the air.

He’d been a bit preoccupied, his mind solely on the blood on his tongue, on the sweetness, then the spice. But he opened his eyes, red going brown as he became sated, and took a deep breath as he continued to drink, finding the air _strong_ with arousal and _oh_ those noises were nice, desperate little moans and grunts punched out of him every time he sucked on his neck, he could feel Arthur giving tiny little bucks of his hips above him, and _hell_ he’d never had anyone react like this before, even Hosea grimaced though he’d long grown used to the pain.

“Dutch,” Arthur choked out, breathless and pleading, body tense as a live-wire as his hips twitched and

  
  


Arthur grunted, finding himself on his back. Dutch shook above him, lips stained red with his blood, eyes searching his face and a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Arthur,” the older man growled, eyes darting down to stare at the very obvious tent in his pants and Arthur kind of wanted to die.

Then Dutch aligned their hips, and gave a long, agonizingly slow grind, dragging his own, just as hard cock against his, and Arthur could have died as electricity shot up his spine. The vampire grinned, did it again, that rumble turning into a snarl that shook his entire body as he leaned down, pinning the human in with those strong arms, fastening his mouth over the wounds he’d made and sucking hard to reopen them, mouth filled with the taste of cinnamon and spice and _Arthur._

Arthur gasped, arched into Dutch, reached up and fumbled at his vest, trying to ground himself. But Dutch’s grinding was beginning to speed up and he couldn’t catch himself, each long drag of their cocks together making him whine and whimper and gasp, his increasing heart rate pumping blood faster and faster into Dutch’s mouth.

Dutch cursed against his shoulder, reached down and fumbled with first his own pants, undoing the buttons that held his pinstriped pants together, groaning his relief when his cock shot out, splattering pre-cum all over Arthur’s denim pants, hurrying to do the same to Arthur, slicking his hand with the human’s generous pre-cum before taking them both in hand, having to pump only one-two-three times before they were both cumming, Arthur’s racing heart filling Dutch’s mouth almost faster than he could drink and finally he pulled back, still fucking into his fist, his seed joining the mess on Arthur’s shirt, his own, harder-to-clean red vest thankfully spared, to lick over the wounds, encouraging them to clot and seal.

“Shit,” the vampire panted, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair, leaning down to kiss along the younger man’s throat, Arthur happy to lean his head back and bare his throat. “So good Arthur,” and despite himself Arthur shivered, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Dutch’s chains, “My good boy Arthur.”

He’d never tasted anyone like Arthur, and he was certain that the man had ruined any other blood for him.


End file.
